


the week after

by vaultboii



Series: life in the wastelands [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Ignorant Hancock, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 16:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12535896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: “You made a promise, dammit. Do you remember anything about that night?"or as, nick's been acting odd and john finds out in the most shitty of ways.





	the week after

**Author's Note:**

> a note: hancock was pretty high in the last fic and because im the master of plot, let's pretend he remembered absolutely nothing.

It’s a _fucking_ surprise when the elevator doors push shut with a whine for the second time.

Maybe surprising wasn’t the right word. God, he was going to take a word out of the old BoS tincan’s book and say it was fucking _outstanding_ that they were alive at all. It was abso-fucking-lutely _outstanding_ that the doors close again, and it’s abso-fucking-lutely _outstanding_ that the Stimpack jammed in his knee is doing its blessed work, and it’s also abso-fucking-lutely _outstanding_ to see that his hands aren’t shaking from the overdose of Psychos’, and the missile launcher laying innocently at his feet.

“Woah.” Nick says, one hand against the elevators stained wall. It was all he could do not to stare at the tattered clothing, the new notch of a bullet just barely noticeable above his collar. His voice runs wild, professional but with that edge of high one can only get from the dance with death. “You alright?”

He was not in better condition himself. “What, you worried about me?” He snorts, and practically feels Nick’s gaze drop from him to the worrying limp his right knee screams about. “Takes a lot more than a few Super Mutants to get the drop on me, _Nicky_.”

Nick’s eyes are steady on his knee, and when he shifts the synth’s eyes flicker and trail back to his face, and _damn_ if those things aren’t the brightest, most mesmerizing shit he’s seen. Maybe it’s the fucking blur of the Buffout he took just before sprinting from the frag mine, maybe it’s the unsteady focus of the Jet, but his eyes are bright amongst the haze of the elevator and it truly takes the breath away from him, more than the pain of his knee.

His thoughts are running. He has to get back on track. He flubs to hear Nick’s sentence.

“-You’re not invincible as the legends live up too.” Nick finishes, with that old exasperated tone he sometimes gets with Nora. His knee cries a little more, and he ignores it a little more. Jesus be damned if he was letting a little pain from distracting his view on those eyes. “We’re taking a break.”

“Nick, my synth,” and he risks a step just to drape an arm around Nick’s shoulder. Something clicks in the mechanical man, but through the hazy bite of all those time-eaten drugs and pain he ignores it. It should’ve been a good hint if he looks back. “I’m fine. Just need a bit of rest, and let this Stimpack do its work, eh? I’ll be back up there in no time.”

“If you say so.” The man’s voice comes a little shakier now, and he, puzzled, looks down to see the synth eyeing the floor in discomfort. Was it the hand? Shit, maybe the synth didn’t like being touched –

- _why did this feel so familiar? What the hell was in that drug?-_

“Damn, uh – you alright, Nick?” He takes the hand back, and that just makes things worse because Nick refuses to glance anywhere near him. There’s a whirring noise, but he relates it to the rumbling of the elevator rising up the Trinity Tower. He tries to get closer, and when Nick cringes away he knows something’s wrong.

“Nick.” He insists. At this time, he doesn’t know what he’s thinking: now or never, perhaps (or maybe that’s the drugs talking again). His hand touches the shoulder once more.

And that’s when he realizes how hot Nick is running.

And that’s when he realizes the whirring noise is coming from Nick.

And that’s when Nick snaps.

The mechanical man snatches his wrist, metal hand a vise around his. It doesn’t hurt – but he’s thrown by the intensity of the action, the two sunlit balls of wrath lit in Nick’s eyes as the man pushes off the wall just to take that hand and pull him closer. The voice isn’t Nick’s – it’s furious, it’s wrathful, it’s so _fucking_ concerned that he nearly pulls away in favour of the missile launcher’s company. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Is what his friend practically spits, voice edged in concrete and laced with a poison more lethal than any Radscorpion. “You go marching in there without a warning! You could’ve died if I hadn’t just pulled the _damn trigger_ on that launcher! And that means nothing? This,” and the man stabs a finger into his bruised chest, not enough to hurt but enough to pull his attention from his clutched hand to the stitched shotgun hole in his chest . “Means nothing?”

He’s too stunned to say anything. Charisma fades to black. Nick’s accusation, _Nick, the kind, patient synth is yelling_ , snap out of it. “What –”

“You made a promise, _dammit_. Do you remember anything about that night? I suppose you didn’t. I had a feeling – you were gone, lost out of your mind and I was a fool, an idiot – I thought –” Nick’s grip on his hand loosens, and that rage fades to a cold, empty husk of yellow in his eyes. “ _Shit_ , I thought –”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about, Nick?” He rips his hand out of the man’s grip, and Nick lets him. He’s yelling like a cornered man now, but the words seem to wash over the synth’s face lost. “The _fuck_ are you talking about, that night? All I know is that you’re _fucking_ pissed, and I’m _fucking_ lost, and this concern rising out of nowhere is here now!” He waves a hand. “I get shot in the chest _five freaking days ago_ , and wake up with a new hole in my chest, and you’ve been avoiding me! What the _hell?_ ”

Nick doesn’t say anything. His eyes widen, slightly. The detective turns around.

“What are you _fucking_ hiding?” He accuses the detective, and the elevator dings on the top floor. He can’t see those eyes now, hidden in shadows. Nick’s mouth is falling into a grimace, dropping lower and lower. “Deacon keeps making these _off-hand_ comments – _Piper’s talking_ , and they’re saying stuff that I don’t remember _shit_ about. What the _hell_ are you hiding? What the _hell_ is going on?”

The words carry over the Trinity Tower. Probably every fricken’ Raider and Super Mutant in the twenty-mile radius heard them.

Nick winces, and that just drives him _nuts._

“Well?” He demands.

“Do you remember anything after you got shot?” Nick’s voice is cracking, too quiet. He notices the synth’s hands are twitching, trembling. The synth’s body is tight and ready to flee. “Anything?”

Pain. He took a couple drugs to take the edge off, and a haze is what he recalls when he looks back. There’s something else too. It’s there, but he can’t recall.

“I got high off my ass like every other time.” He says, and that’s the wrong thing to say because Nick’s mouth falls lower a little more and he winces again.

“That’s what I thought.” Nick says, and goes to move out the elevator.

He grabs the man’s arm. Spur of the moment, really, and by the indication of Nick’s whole body going stiff, probably a bad choice of getting the synth to stop. It’s a real damn shame he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. “Nick. I’m going to ask you one more fricken’ time. What the _hell_ happened?”

Nick hesitates, and his eyes gleam a little brighter, and –

\- _Hands, cold hands running down his sides, a trenchcoat lays unbuttoned and nick’s shirt is loose, his chest chafed and rough, and felt so warm against his face as he stares up at the synth, and it’s so heartfelt –_

Something clicks.

He steps back, and he nearly stumbles over the missile launcher. Luckily his grip on Nick’s arm doesn’t slide, nor does Nick’s steadying hand as the synth’s eyes flash alarm. He regains his balance, and thus, his dignity.

“We – us – we did –” He stutters, still holding onto Nick’s sleeve. “You and me?”

Nick looks away, and that fan kicks back on. “Yes.” The synth admits. “Yeah. We did.”

“ _Fuck_.” He breathes, and if anything Nick’s fan whirrs a little faster.

“I don’t expect anything,” Nick finally says after they both had examined the ground for their own equal amount of time. In his case, his face flushed and thoughts swimming of thoughts with _Nick_ , _Nick the private detective, the one who snorted when Cait and him exchanged innuendos_. Nick the synth. He...He _fucked_ the synth. He has to sneak a glance at Nick just to remind himself he wasn’t having some hallucination from the drug after-effects. The heat kicking from the mechanical man tells him he’s not. “You were high, I wasn’t thinking straight. You clearly don’t remember.”

“Bits and pieces are there.” He admits as his cheeks sting. “Some more vividly than others.”

Nick chuckles bitterly, and those fans are still blaring behind him. “I remember it all.” He says, and if that doesn’t stir up more memories, the eyes do.

_-nick is humming in his ear as he runs a hand down his spine, just to soothe the pain from his chest. His breaths run ragged, and nick’s metal hand is warm now from being against his skin long enough._

_“Sure you don’t want to be with someone a bit more cooperative?” He teases as he catches his breath, and Nick stops humming._

_“Wouldn’t give this up for the world,” snorts Nick, and then they’re back at it._

His hand falls slowly to Nick’s. It’s barely touching now, just hanging there, fingers outstretched. Nick feels it; his shoulders go stiff again, and his eyes stare unseeingly ahead. The memories are a bit fresher now, more there. He’s starting to remember what they said. He’s starting to remember everything.

“You don’t want this old synth,” Nick says to the space between them. “We can just leave it at that night.”

Does he want to leave it? The choice is right there, sitting. Leave it as a one-time thing. Stop. Everything would be as it would be before. Though it wouldn’t be. Not really. He watches Nick’s lips, and sees how Nick notices that, fan whirrs louder, barely keeps his lips together. His own mouth grows very dry. Does he really want to stop?

He slides his hand into Nick’s. Smiles.

Nick’s eyes flash, and he looks straight towards him, and they practically meet halfway at the centre of the elevator. Eyes lock. That slow, slow quirk of Nick’s lips twitch into a small smirk.

“Are you sure?” Nick says slowly, even with that smile on his face. Those fans burn bright, and the synth isn’t looking at him now, but the smile speaks volumes. “Sure you don’t want Nora, or Cait, or someone compatible? You sure you’d like this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I like this.” Hancock says. “Always did like your ass, anyways.”

Nick laughs. It feels good against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> im always tired when i write so tell me if i've made some mistakes with spelling or grammar! i don't always get everything in my proof-reading =]


End file.
